


When I Hear That Old Song

by fadedmoon



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-24 14:19:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6156345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadedmoon/pseuds/fadedmoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky grinned and then winced, a tentative hand coming up to prod at his purpling cheek bone. He groaned, jutting his lip out in a, quite frankly adorable, pout.</p>
<p>Steve hummed, hands on his hips and amusement playing on his lips, "...Aspirin?"</p>
<p>"Aspirin." Bucky agreed.</p>
<p> -----<br/>5 times Bucky gets drunk and ends up on Steve's property + 1 time he makes up for it</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I looked out this morning and the sun was gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, change of plan, this is going to be chaptered just because it's easier right now. A little update is that hey, I'm gonna start writing Bucky's POV too!  
> Part 2&3 should be done soon, but then after that it's new territory of unwritten things. I'll try and update ASAP though.  
> The chapter titles are pretty irrelevant I'm just not creative so they're lyrics for a song that will be making an appearance in the fic later.  
> Oh & I'm British which is why the dates are day/month/year despite my attempts at American phrasing. I'm petty and refuse to write month/day/year, sorry. Also sorry I'm not good with American phrasing. What is the American equivalent of flatmate? Is it roommate? Who knows. Not me.  
> Enjoy!

i.

  
23.07.2013

  
Late for work. Again.

  
This will be the third time this month. Pierce was going to kill him. Or worse, fire him.

  
Winter tilted his head at him from his position amongst the nest of blankets on Steve's bed as the blond hastily fixed his tie. The pup was Steve's only company in the house his mother had left him.

  
Steve sighed and murmured to the dog, "I know I can do better, buddy, but it's good pay. It's not forever, I promise." At Steve's soft, cooing voice, Winter huffed and nuzzled his nose down into the sheets.

  
Steve huffed out a soft laugh before checking the time on his wristwatch. 8:21.

  
"Fuck." He quickly shrugged on his blazer and made for the door, pausing briefly to scratch behind Winter's ears.

  
He nipped into the kitchen to grab his lunch from the fridge, lost in thought about all he had planned to do today, and glanced out the window that overlooked his backyard. Steve froze, arm still halfway towards the fridge handle, and stared.

  
There was someone in his garden. Asleep. _In one of his lawn chairs._

  
At least, he hoped he was asleep. Steve's blood singed with adrenaline as he snatched his arm back and jogged to the back door. He opened it, intending to be quiet and stealthy, but the wind wasn't on Steve's side and decided just then to spike, causing the door to slam open against the wall with a loud bang. The guy in the chair jumped, eyes flying open and then squinting shut at the bright morning light. Steve cautiously stepped down onto the patio, cell phone in hand, ready to call the police if necessary. It wasn't the first time he'd found someone asleep in his garden. They were usually homeless, and he assessed whether they were a threat. If not, he invited them in for something to eat and drink, gave them anything they needed, and sent them on their way. Unfortunately, Steve didn't have time to care for the stray. Neither did he have time to call and deal with the police. He just needed the man gone, and gone soon.

  
The man (kid) in question groaned, scrubbing his hands over his face as he sat up sluggishly. He was clad in jeans, the right leg of which was soaked with something decidedly not water, and a dark grey t-shirt. He right shoe was missing, and his formerly white sock appeared to have dried blood on the heel. A week's worth of stubble decorated the guy's jaw, and his shoulder length hair fell about in dark, messy tangles around his neck. His face was gaunt, pale, with dark circles under the eyes. Steve suspected the kid currently had quite the rough hangover. Nevertheless, Steve couldn't help but admire the man's beauty. His jaw was strong, defined, and his deep pink lips seemed even deeper compared to his currently pallid skin, and he was leanly (deliciously) muscled, with what looked like scars crisscrossing and swirling in patterns all down his left arm, and when the kid opened his eyes again and looked up at Steve- the blond gasped quietly at how bright and clear they were, silver-grey and beautiful.

  
The stranger opened his mouth, perhaps to apologise and give an explanation, but his gaze dropped to the phone still clutched in Steve's grasp. His eyes widened and he stumbled out of the lawn chair, muttering curse words in a quiet, sleep-roughened voice. He then fumbled his way through a sentence as he staggered towards the back gate, which was standing open, his arms held up in a placating gesture, "Man, fuck, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to pass out on your lawn chair in your backyard, it just kinda happened, please don't call the cops."

  
And then he was gone.

  
Steve stared after him, eyebrows furrowed, still confused as to what had just happened. But then his phone beeped angrily, a text from Peggy telling him to hurry the fuck up, and he went back into motion. He shut his back gate, propped a decorative stone against it to keep it from opening, set a reminder to buy a new gate lock at some point, and was in his car and on the road minutes later.

  
Pierce didn't fire him. But the very loud lecture he got as consequence for being late, again, despite how many times Steve tried to push the excuse that he was dealing with a stranger on his property, was still pretty fucking awful.

  
It was going to be a long week.

  
\--*--

  
Bucky groaned and flopped down onto his unmade bed. He couldn't believe that had just happened. Had that really happened? Had he really just made such a poor first impression on his super-hot-super-out-of-his-league neighbour? Bucky groaned again, louder this time, to signal to his flatmates that he was in a Bad Mood.

  
Taking pity on him and his strop, Natasha got up from her position on their couch to lean against his doorway. She hummed, and then stated cheerfully, "You look, and smell, like shit."

  
"Fu' you." Bucky grumbled, voice muffled by the duvet.

  
She laughed, "We've been there before, didn't work out, remember? Now, come on. Get your ass in the shower. As soon as Clint's ready, we're going for post-party brunch."  


  
Her demand was met by more groaning. She sighed, "I'll let you complain for three whole minutes. And you can wear my sunglasses."

  
\-----  


  
Bucky took the sunglasses off momentarily to order (eye contact with whoever's serving you, people, it's only polite), smiling brightly at the waitress despite the dull throbbing in his skull, before slipping them back on.

  
Nat's lips quirked up, and Bucky scowled back in response.

  
"What happened to you anyway, Buck?" Clint asked, purposefully trying to interrupt the weird stare-off Nat and Bucky had gotten into.

  
It worked. Bucky turned to him, his scowl deepening, "You know goddamn well what happened to me. Two weeks ago I agreed to move in with my friends. Since then, they appear to have been replaced by two giant floating assholes, and my life has ultimately been ruined."

  
"Oh, don't be such a drama queen, James." Natasha scolded, trying to keep the amused smirk from her face.

  
Bucky huffed and crossed his arms, shoving back against the booth they were in. He knew he was being petulant, dramatic, but could anyone blame him?

  
The waitress returned with the inhumane amount of coffee they had ordered, along with Clint's waffles-and-diabetes, Nat's blueberry and almond pancakes, and Bucky's french toast and strawberries. After a chorus of thank-you's and her departure, Bucky turned back to glare at his flatmates.

  
"Okay, what happened to me? Before, during, or after you two abandoned me with my leg down an open street drain? Or maybe you were referring to after you locked me out of the apartment, knowing I didn't have a key?"

  
They at least had the decency to look guilty at that. Bucky sighed, picking at his food, "What happened is- I, uh. Well, you know the guy that lives a couple doors down? The one I saw last Wednesday gettin' out of his car and I tripped over?"

  
"Steve?" Natasha asked, and Bucky nodded glumly.

  
"Oh, man. You knock on his door at ass-o'clock? No wonder you're pissed at us." Clint muttered, before promptly shovelling a forkful of waffles and whipped cream into his mouth.

  
"Worse." Bucky groaned, "I thought his back gate was the one for our complex- I dunno, I got it into my head that I could climb up to my bedroom window and get in that way- all I remember is breaking down his gate, being very confused, and then sitting down on a chair. Next thing I know, the sun is burning my retinas, and Steve is there, looking all- all disgustingly gorgeous, except kinda scared, with his phone in his hand like he's gonna call the cops, and-" Bucky threw his hands up with a groan of despair, "He saw me with gross sewer grime all up my leg."

  
Nat reached across the table to pat the back of his hand, "There, there, Bucky-bear. If it helps, you probably never had a chance with him, anyway."

  
Bucky swatted her hand away, but smiled softly. She smiled back, before it was hidden by the rim of her cup. Both her and Clint knew he wasn't looking for advice or sympathy; simply an outlet where he could complain about all the shit that happens to him, so he could get it out of his mind, let it go, and move on. It worked for them, and Bucky was forever thankful.

  
"Anyway," Clint started, shoving away his empty plate, "We should get a dog. Dog's are fuckin' A. You know what else is fuckin' A? Pizza. So, to conclude, I propose; Pizza Dog."

  
"I'm pretty sure we had this exact conversation last night." Natasha replied with an arched eyebrow.

  
Bucky sat back to watch them bicker, eating his toast only so that they wouldn't notice his fond smile. He'd never live it down if they found out he actually liked them.

  
\--*--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for the prompt; 'I didn't mean to pass out on your lawn chair in your backyard it just kinda happened please don't call the cops' from [here](http://teaandouterspace.tumblr.com/post/113576151718/aus-part-3)  
> I already have headcanons for this AU, and will post them when (if) this is finished if they don't make their way into the fic.  
> Come talk to me on [tumblr](http://xstucky.tumblr.com) if you wanna!


	2. Turned on some music to start my day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I have no idea how lawyery things work or how doctory things work either, so I'm sorry if you work at an attorney's office or a hospital and you read this and see how wrong it all is. But hey, this is fiction. Anything is possible.  
> Anyway! Little warnings for this - there's a sentence that mentions dog fighting but don't worry, it's just Steve being a worry-wuss, and all dogs in this fic remain happy and beautiful throughout. Bucky throws up, so if you're squeamish about that, stop reading after "to offer the kid a glass of water and money for a taxi home" and continue again at "Once somewhat satisfied"  
> I think that's all that needs addressing, but if there's anything else, please tell me :^)  
> This is also not beta'd and I haven't written anything for a while so I'm a bit rusty. Any mistakes, please point them out (nicely)!

ii.

  
08.11.2013

  
Friday. Steve's second favourite day, after Saturday and before Sunday. All of his Fridays have the same routine; finish work, get home, finish more work, walk Winter, inhale a plate or two of food, shower, and then sleep until noon the following Saturday. This particular Friday, however, Steve found himself saddled with a lot more work than usual, which threw his entire schedule off kilter. He managed to eat a simple sandwich and fall into bed at 1am, but the rest of his to-do list had to go unchecked. Yet, with his goose-down pillow under his head and the promise of a sound night's sleep ahead, Steve barely had room to complain.  


  
09.11.2013

  
Scratch that. Steve had vast room to complain. Not having time to walk Winter meant the Husky's schedule of puppy antics was also thrown off kilter. Which meant the pup was now whining directly into Steve's face, nose butting against his cheek as he tried to wake his friend.

  
Steve groaned, turning his face away from his dog's wet nose and burrowing into his pillow. Winter persisted, paws attempting to dig through the cotton sheets. With a sigh, Steve pushed himself up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing sleep from his eyes with a yawn. The digital clock on his bedside table informed him it was 3:24am. He'd barely been asleep for two hours.

  
"You're a pain in the ass, you know that?" Steve grumbled to Winter, who was wagging his tail at the bedroom door, happy that Opperation-Wake-Up-Friend was a success.

  
He padded, barefoot, downstairs and to the kitchen, swiping the back door key from the counter as he went. The door was barely open an inch before Winter was shoving it open and bounding outside, barking happily and chasing moths under the dim moonlight. A smile tugged on the corners of Steve's lips, and he stepped back, heading for the sink to fix himself a glass of water. As he brought the glass to his lips, a loud rattling followed by a thud and a groan of pain was heard from outside. Steve's eyes snapped to look through the window and saw a man, illuminated slightly by the kitchen light, bent over his dog. Discarding the glass into the sink, Steve ran to the door, horror stories of people stealing dogs to use them for fighting replaying through his mind.

  
He was on the grass, only a metre away, before he stopped in his tracks completely.

  
He recognised this man.

  
How did he recognise this man?

  
Steve slowly took a step forward as he raked his brain for any memory of a handsome man with scruffy stubble, and it clicked. This was the guy who left him $25 out of pocket after having to replace the lock on his gate. A quick glance assured Steve that this time, his gate was closed. The kid must have scaled the fence.

  
"What the hell are you doing?" Steve asked, his attempt to sound authoritative and angry failing, instead he simply sounded incredibly confused.

  
It was clear what the kid was doing. He was petting Winter, quite eagerly. One hand was rubbing the pup's flank, and the other was scratching behind an ear. Going by how Winter's tail was a mere blur, the pup was loving it. Steve blamed his exhaustion on the slight surge of jealousy.

  
The brunet lurched backwards at Steve's voice, his open-mouthed grin as wide as his eyes. He didn't appear to feel guilty, or at all surprised, at being caught. He was, however, clearly heavily intoxicated. Steve could smell the liquor on his breath from where he stood. The stranger staggered forwards, clapping a hand down on Steve's shoulder and grinning up at him before speaking, words slurred, "Man, dogs are fuckin' A. They're so great, man. Dude. _So_ great."

  
Steve sighed, fighting back a smile of amusement as he opened his mouth to speak, to offer the kid a glass of water and money for a taxi home. It was then that the stranger decided he needed to empty the contents of his stomach. All over Steve's feet.

  
The blond made a sound of disgust and staggered back, peering down to assess the mess; his feet were covered, and his calves were splattered, too. He was thankful Winter had grown bored of the New Thing and had retreated inside - he didn't need his dog lapping up vomit from his feet, thanks.

  
"Man, m'sorry. Didn't mean to." The guy slurred, drawing Steve's attention again.

  
Not bothering to reply to the guy who just threw up all over his fucking feet, Steve walked over to the faucet protruding from the wall of his house. He managed to rinse off the majority of the mess, but knew he'd have to shower and scrub himself with anti-bacterial soap before he felt clean again.

  
Once somewhat satisfied, Steve turned, expecting the kid to have fled like last time. He didn't expect him to be standing right behind him.

  
"You're so pretty, dude. Like, super pretty. Y'know that? Your eyelashes are as long as... as long as... long as _fuck_." The kid peered up at him with what Steve assumed was awe in his wide eyes, and reverence in his rough voice.

  
Steve rolled his eyes, mumbling a thank you as he side-stepped the drunken stranger. He didn't appear to be in a rush to leave, and Steve didn't feel comfortable leaving him alone with his gate again, so as the blond headed back to the kitchen door he motioned the brunet to follow.

  
As the kid was inspecting his Japanese Peace Lily a little too closely, Steve poured him a glass of water, "Hey, buddy, here - drink up, I'll call you a cab, and you'll be home before you know it."

  
The brunet muttered something indistinguishable and picked up the glass, only spilling a little in the process of sucking down it's contents. Steve watched, amused, for a moment, before padding into the living room and plucking up the house phone. He heard the slam of the glass on the counter and the scuff of boots as the guy followed him into the living room. There was then a stumble, and Steve turned, mid-sentence to the taxi service, to see the brunet collapse onto his couch. Steve paused, brows furrowing, but just as he stepped closer to make sure the kid was still breathing, a soft snore managed to escape from where his face was pressed against the couch cushion.

  
Steve stared in disbelief. Looks like he didn't need the taxi, then. Steve apologised to the woman on the other end of the line and hung up, placing the phone back in the holder.

  
He briefly contemplated waking the kid up and throwing him off of his property, but Steve figured that would take more energy than he currently possessed. Instead, he retrieved a pillow and blanket from the linen cupboard, and had only mild difficulty in lifting the stranger's head and squeezing the pillow under it. Once the brunet was tucked in as cosy as one could be on Steve's couch, he settled into the armchair adjacent to the couch (while he didn't entirely think the stranger would steal his possessions, Steve would rather not go back to bed and risk it) and eventually drifted off to sleep.

  
\-----

  
Steve woke as slowly as the sun rose. There was only a brief moment of confusion as to why he wasn't nestled down in a heap of blankets with his dog before Steve remembered the events of only a few hours ago. With a groan, Steve straightened in his chair and palmed the side of his neck where a prominent ache had sprung from sleeping at an odd angle. The stranger was still asleep, and seemed perfectly comfortable, with the soft pillow under his head and the blanket wrapped tightly around him. In his sleep, he had turned over and was now curled up, facing Steve's fireplace. His expression was so relaxed, open, almost innocent; it made him look so young compared to the drunken, crooked smirk he'd worn before.

  
As if Steve's thoughts had been loud enough to wake him, the brunet's eyes fluttered open, and a soft groan escaped his lips. Steve's face immediately heated at the sound, but to his relief (disappointment) it was clearly not a groan of pleasure, as the kid then muttered a curse followed by an agonised, "My head is fucking killing me."

  
Steve cleared his throat and stood, "I'll go get you some aspirin."

  
At the sound of his voice, the brunet's head snapped up, eyes going wide as he stared at Steve, "...What the f- Why am I- What am I doing here?"

  
The blond arched an eyebrow, "You don't remember? Not that I'm surprised, you probably had more alcohol than blood in your body last night." Steve sat on the edge of the chair and crossed his arms over his chest, "Well, I met you last night when you were drunkenly patting my dog in my backyard at 3 in the morning, and when I asked you what the hell you were doing, you slurred something about dogs being great, and then you threw up on my feet, and then fifteen minutes later you were passed out on my couch, so that's why you're here right now. Also, what the fuck is your name? And why were you patting a dog in a stranger's backyard in the middle of the night?"

  
Only silence followed that rambling explanation, but after a handful of seconds, the brunet slowly sat up and turned to face Steve, "Technically, we met months ago, when I was passed out in your backyard, but..." He inhaled deeply and smiled weakly at Steve, "M'name's Bucky. And if it isn't too much trouble, I'd really like that aspirin now."

  
\--*--

  
Bucky was cursed. It was the only explanation.

  
Or maybe this was all Stark's fault. He was spiking his drinks with something that made him seek out Steve. Or with something that made it impossible for him to act rationally. Or both.

  
Bucky was drawn from his bitter internal rant by Steve returning with the precious aspirin, one pill pinched delicately between artist's fingers. He was tempted to lean forwards and take it right from the blond's grasp with his mouth, but figured that would be bad social etiquette.

  
"Thanks." Bucky muttered, knocking the pill back and swallowing it dry.

  
Steve winced, and tentatively suggested a glass of water, "Or coffee, I have coffee, and milk. I think I have juice. You wanna come look?"

  
Following Steve into the kitchen, Bucky begged to any and every God listening that Steve at least had good coffee.

  
"I only have instant."

  
Cursed. He was cursed.

  
"I don't drink it that much, so I figure, why bother, you know?" Steve shrugged, staring up at his near-empty cupboard and then back at Bucky. A smile tugged at his lips, and Bucky realised that he had been pouting slightly, "Sorry. How about milk instead?"

  
Bucky wrinkled his nose, ideas turning around in his head, "How about we go to Rise and Grind? You know, where they have _real_ coffee?"

  
Steve's eyebrows furrowed, confused, and Bucky was reminded of that same look hours before, Steve's face half painted in warm light from the kitchen, goosebumps covering his ridiculously muscled arms, voice rough and deep and- Bucky flushed, quickly answering Steve's confusion with a rushed, "It's on the corner of the street, next to that thrift shop. It's tiny but everything there is delicious, I promise."

  
The blond seemed to ponder this for a moment while Bucky began to realise that Steve was yet to put on any pyjama bottoms or sweatpants or _anything_ , honestly, how dare he just stand there half dressed in his own home, it was an outrage, it should be illegal, it should-

  
"Okay. It's been a while since I've had ' _real_ coffee', so why not?" Steve grinned and closed his cupboard, making his way out of the kitchen and heading for the stairs. "I'll just have a quick shower to wash off whatever you ate and drank last night, and I'll be ready."

  
Bucky followed, looking sheepish and staring resolutely at his feet, "Yeah... Sorry about that."

  
Steve laughed, and Bucky peeked shyly up at him, "It's okay, kid. It was only very, very, very disgusting. No big deal."

  
He was then ruffling Bucky's hair and bounding up the stairs before the younger could even think to apologise again.

  
"Don't go anywhere, will you? Remote's on the coffee table if you wanna watch anything!" He called down. There was then the sound of a lock clicking into place and the water starting up, and Bucky was still standing in the middle of hot-neighbour-Steve's living room, trying to remember how to breathe.

  
\-----

  
"You threw up on his feet."

  
"Yes."

  
"And he let you sleep on his couch."

  
"Yes."

  
"And now you're going to get coffee."

  
"Yes."

  
"Then how could you possibly be cursed, James? Sure, you made a fool of yourself and have most definitely ruined any chance of him being attracted to you, but- actually, I forgot where I was going with this."

  
Bucky cursed at Natasha as he paced the length of Steve's living room, phone clutched desperately next to his ear, "C'mon, Nat, what the hell do I do? He's- he's upstairs in the freakin' shower, and all I really wanna do is join him-"

  
"T-M-I."

  
"We both know you live for sex gossip, shut up, how am I supposed to sit through coffee with this guy? All I know is his first name and how much I wanna sit on his lap, dammit."

  
"And how much is that, precisely?"

  
" _Nat_."

  
Natasha cackled gleefully, clearly enjoying her friend's torment too much. Bucky growled, "Forget it, I'll just say I gotta go to work, which... isn't actually untrue, so-"

  
"Uh-uh, no, you're going to have coffee with hot-neighbour-Steve. I'll tell Banner you're not coming in until later, I'll cover for you. S'not like you do much of anything anyway, right?" Bucky could practically see her teasing smirk, but then her voice softened and Bucky listened closer, "Just treat him like you'd treat me, or Clint; like a friend. It'll be weird at first, obviously, 'cause you're strangers. But just- and damn it, this is so cliché- just be yourself. If you get along, then great, you have a new friend. If you don't, then hot-neighbour-Steve remains hot-neighbour-Steve, and your life goes on as normal. No biggie, right?"

  
Bucky sighed, "Right. Piece o'cake."

  
"And Buck?"

  
"Yeah, Nat?"

  
"Don't keep apologising for being an ass. Thank him for putting up with you, despite the assetry. Makes a better impression."

  
Bucky smiled, "Thanks, Nat. Tell Banner to page me if there's an emergency."

  
"Will do. Good luck."

  
\-----

  
"You know, I drive past this place every day. I can't believe I've never stopped in here for coffee before work; you were right, it is fuckin' _delicious_."

  
Bucky chuckled quietly, cheeks burning as his eyes tracked the motion of Steve's tongue swiping at his lower lip. It didn't help that Steve had appeared after his shower with still damp hair and a white tee clinging to all the right places, not to mention his ass in those light-wash jeans when Steve had excitedly paced ahead of Bucky to hold the café door open for him. Goddamn it, this guy was too hot and too _nice_ to be allowed.

  
"Where is it that you work?" Bucky asked, trying to save his mind from plummeting into the gutter before it was too late.

  
Steve made a face, setting his cup down with a sigh, "Pierce and Fury, attorney's office. I'm not a fancy lawyer, or anythin', just Pierce's assisstant. He's an asshole. It sucks. But it pays more than what I wanna do, so there's that."

  
Bucky cocked his head, chin propped in one hand as the index finger of the other lazily swirled his lukewarm coffee around, "And what do you wanna do?"

  
Steve chewed his lip, biting back a nervous smile, "I, uh. I like art. A lot. I wanna be a concept artist for... uh, you know, film companies. Kinda hard to get into that line of work, though. Haven't had much luck with it." Steve's expression shifted, a frown tugging on those gorgeous lips, and Bucky just couldn't have that. He was opening his mouth to crack a silly joke when Steve's face suddenly lit up, "Anyway, stop letting me drone on about myself and my boring life. You've still yet to tell me about these drunken escapades you've been having."

  
\-----

  
Bucky was beginning to think that maybe he wasn't cursed after all. He'd been sat here, in this little corner booth in this little corner café with this not so little hot guy, for almost four hours now. The time had gone by so fast, but at the same time it felt like they had been sat there forever, talking, eating, laughing. Bucky was starting to think it was some kind of miracle, really, because usually his pager has gone off at least five times by now.

  
"Are you sure you don't have to go to work? Not that I want you to leave! I just, you won't get into trouble 'cause of me, right?"

  
Bucky pouted dramatically, "I can see through your lies, Steve Rogers. You only want me here for my excellent choice in cake and cafés." Steve rolled his eyes and flipped him off, and Bucky grinned in response. "Nah, Stevie, trust me. I'm supposed to be part-time, but I've been going in on weekends and whenever I'm free, which is quite a lot. Doesn't hurt to have an extra pair of hands, even if I end up just doing Doctor Banner's paperwork for him. They'll be fine without me. They know to page me if anything happens."

  
Steve smiled, and Bucky couldn't help but return it even brighter.

  
"So..." Steve tentatively began, "You have a lot of free time, then?"

  
Bucky's smile turned into a sly grin, "Oh, yeah. Tonnes."

  
"No classes?"

  
"Not any more."

  
"No dates on the evenings?"

  
"Nope. Well, none yet, anyway."

  
The blond smiled shyly, "So you're free tonight?"

  
Steve was tracing the rim of his coffee cup with the tip of his finger, cheeks a little pink, either from the caffeine or from trying to ask Bucky out. Bucky thought it was sweet, that Steve was sweet, that everything in this beautiful world was sweet and wonderful and Bucky was going to go on a date with hot-neighbour-Steve (now hot-neighbour-Steve-Rogers) and his cheeks hurt from all the smiling he'd done today and he was _so_ gonna rub Nat's face in it. So, of course, that's when his pager beeped loudly from his pocket.  


  
"Shit." Bucky cursed, fumbling to free it from his jacket to read the message.

  
**BANNER: EMRGNCY: PT ESCPD, CA. GET HERE ASAP.**

  
He was out of his seat before he had even finished reading, throwing down the handful of dollar bills from his back pocket, hoping it would cover what he'd ordered, "I gotta go, Stevie, I'm sorry- I mean, thank you for- Shit, I'll see you later, bye!"

  
Bucky thought the eight miserable hours he then spent at the hospital were the worst eight miserable hours at the hospital he'd had. And he didn't even get Steve's number.

  
He was _cursed_.

  
\--*--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for the prompt; ''I met you last night when you were drunkenly patting my dog in my backyard at 3 in the morning and when i asked you what the hell you were doing you slurred something about dogs being great and then you threw up on my feet and then fifteen minutes later you were passed out on my couch so that's why you're here right now also what the fuck is your name and why were you patting a dog in a stranger's backyard in the middle of the night' au' from [here](http://theappleppielifestyle.tumblr.com/post/112392287541/list-of-aus-to-consider-where-one-or-both-of-ur)  
> Come talk to me on [tumblr](http://xstucky.tumblr.com) if you wanna!


End file.
